


Pink Skies

by kittypann



Category: FAHC - Fandom, Fake AH crew - Fandom, fake achievement hunter crew
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 02:43:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4860002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittypann/pseuds/kittypann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Early morning rooftop thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pink Skies

Michael laughed like his lungs were about to combust. His mouth tasted ash and the early morning light of sunny Los Santos hit his curls and made them gleam like copper wire. He laughed like he was made of explosions, and he was. Michael laughed like his lungs were about to combust, and Ray could feel the heat from that explosion through his whole body.

In moments like this, on a rooftop at sunrise, Michael leaning too far over the edge making Ray’s stomach squirm despite the fact that falling was little more than a minor inconvenience for any of them, Ray almost forgot that he was burnt out inside.

When Michael burned, he was the fire.

When Ray burned, he was the wood.

It was terrible, and it had gone south before, and yet when Michael cupped Ray’s face, knocking his glasses askew, laughing all the way to his lips, laughing even after he planted his own against Ray’s, Ray could almost forget all that. Ray smiled, too. Michael walked back to the edge of the rooftop, and Ray lay on his belly behind him.

In the penthouse below them slept the remaining four members of the immortal Fake AH Crew. Or maybe they weren’t asleep. Maybe Geoff was grumbling because Jack was standing at the window behind his bed, curtains wide open, watching the same fire in the sky that Michael and Ray were. Did Ryan even sleep? Ray was tired. He thought all of these things at once, and he thought about how he felt safer having them at his belly, but most of all he thought about how Michael laughed like his lungs were about to combust.

He closed his eyes, resting his cheek on the hot concrete below him. He couldn’t remember what Michael was laughing at any more. All he could taste was hash smoke and Michael, and all he could think about was sleep and Michael, and all he could see behind his tired eyelids was Michael, who was still laughing like his lungs were about to combust.


End file.
